FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! New chapter! I'm sooo sorry! :\ I'll try to keep up better in the future.
Eragon's stomach twisted and his heart dropped as the fighting ensued below him. The Varden forces had run on foot to meet the black and red clad formation that threatened them. He watched them from his airy perch as they slaughtered and were slaughtered.
"Eragon, now!" A voice said behind him from the rank of archers. Tarrow was leading them as they prepared to shoot.
He and Saphira had been hiding behind a bank of rocks on the cliff, but now jumped into the air in swirl of wind and dust. Saphira roared brutally, and every soldier on the ground paused in their fighting to stare at her. They climbed up through the air, gaining altitude quickly. Then, just as they reached the clouds, she drew in her wings and twisted her body sideways, pointing them downward. Eragon leaned over her neck and narrowed his eyes against the wind. Saphira pulled out of the dive twenty feet above the armies of soldiers. If Eragon hadn't known that she would, he would've been jerked from the saddle.
Galbatorix's army's archers fired at them, but the brittle arrows snapped and fell to the ground as they hit the ward Eragon had placed around them. As he and Saphira flew over them, she let out a fierce jet of flame. The men's uniforms caught on fire and they baked in their armor. Nearly a quarter of the opposing force dropped to the dirt.
At the sight of this, the Varden let out shouts of victory and banged their swords on their shields. With renewed vigor, they charged toward the demoralized enemy. They lost their formation and scattered, allowing for the Varden's men to pick them off one by one.
Amid the confusion on the battlefield, nobody noticed the huge red shape materializing over the brightening horizon. Only Eragon and Saphira watched as a behemoth red dragon glided towards them. At first, Eragon thought of Aries, and his heart sunk.
Saphira sniffed the air cautiously. It's not her, Eragon. At first he was elated, but then realized who was flying at them.
"Murtagh," Eragon muttered angrily. Saphira snorted and a plume of smoke curled up towards the lightening sky. We won't let him get near our soldiers. Go! Let's meet him there.
With pleasure, Saphira growled, and began to ascend through the thin layer of clouds that were once above them. The ground was blotched out by white, but they knew where their target was. Saphira sped up, and entered a spiraling dive through the clouds.
The cloud cover had protected them from sight until they burst out right above Murtagh and Thorn. They looked up, surprised, as Saphira crashed into them with her claws and teeth bared. She released a long stream of fire, but Eragon watched in dismay as it just passed around them.
"Good morning, little brother," Murtagh laughed as Thorn and Saphira fought viciously.
"You're no brother of mine." Eragon said grimly, brandishing the sparkling blue sword Brisingr.
"So, you got a new sword. What's it called?" Murtagh asked in a mocking tone.
Eragon smiled. "Brisingr." As he muttered the sword's name, it burst into blue flame, reflecting a sapphire light on everything around it.
Murtagh looked in surprise and slight fear as the scintillating blue weapon jabbed at him. He felt the attack tugging at his energy; his wards reflected them at his own cost of energy. Eragon relished the look of surprise on his older half-brother's face as he made a futile effort to wear him down. He finally told Saphira mentally to pull away. She shoved Thorn away and opened her wings, regaining altitude. She flew in a large circle, letting the wind carry them upward. Murtagh healed Thorn's wounds and they followed to attack.
Saphira suddenly flipped upside down with Eragon dangling from the saddle. He felt his stomach lurch, and his hands instinctively checked the bands around his legs to make sure they were still tied. Saphira then tilted towards the ground, and they gained speed quickly. Then she did a back flip, putting them right side up facing the other way. Murtagh and Thorn were only twenty feet in front of them, and there was no room to stop.
They crashed together once more, a flurry of teeth and claws and blood. Eragon saw Murtagh's lips forming a spell, and quickly mustered a feeble counter spell. He felt the tingling, dizzying sensation of his energy leaving him, and knew that the spell aimed at him would have been powerful. He put his hand to one of the gems on his belt and took the energy from it. He felt renewed, but could only hold on as Saphira continued to brawl with Thorn. He sheathed Brisingr, and told Saphira, take us down.
Are you mad? Came her frantic reply as she concentrated on her battle.
Yes. Now do it. The only way I can defeat him is in a one-on-one swords match. You know that. Eragon explained.
Saphira growled, but pushed away from Thorn. Fine. She said, flipping backwards into a nose dive towards the ground. She tucked her wings in, waiting until they were only seconds from crashing. Then she opened her blue wings, jerking them upward roughly. Eragon lost his breath at the unexpected jostling.
You did that on purpose, Eragon thought bitterly, climbing out of the saddle.
Perhaps. Saphira replied, settling herself on the grass. Eragon healed her cuts—none were fatal—and then strided to the middle of the field Saphira had landed in. The main armies were clashing to his right, and he watched as the lines met and intertwined, each side losing men at an alarming rate.
The beating of heavy wings close-by brought him out of his thoughts. He glared at Murtagh as he too climbed down from his dragon. Thorn laid down in the patchy grass as well, his bird-like crimson eyes always watching Saphira.
Murtagh sauntered into the middle of the field, until he was about twenty feet from Eragon. "Why can't you just come quietly?" He queried, sounding exasperated.
"Why can't you just leave us be?" Eragon spat back, wrapping his hand around the grip of Brisingr. He came to fight, not talk.
Murtagh laughed, gripping his own sword as well. "I'm just following orders."
Eragon ignored him, ripping Brisingr out of its sheath hanging from his hip. The blue metal glimmered, as hungry for blood as its enraged master. Murtagh copied his movements. They circled each other for a moment, both calculating distances and maneuvers. "We could avoid this fight," Murtagh pleaded falsely, "we're brothers. Maybe we should act like it."
Eragon didn't answer. He held Brisingr at the ready. Slowly, the circle they had been following began to shrink, until they were only a couple paces from each other. Eragon made the first attack, bringing his sword down in a fierce arc. "Brisingr!" He yelled, and the weapon erupted into blue flame just as it came into contact with Murtagh's hasty block. Sparks flew as the two swords hit each other.
Murtagh whipped Zar'roc back and jabbed forward at Eragon's stomach. Eragon used his own sword to cast the move away, then parried to the right. In a flash of movement, he brought Brisingr down on Murtagh's thigh. Even though he had wards around himself, he felt the blow, and it sent a jarring pain down his leg.
Thorn tensed into a crouch, a growl emanating from his throat. He took his eyes away from Saphira and watched the fight, looking like a cat ready to pounce. Saphira did the same, only she crept forward, threatening the younger beast. He laid back down, but didn't relax. He still bared his teeth, as did Saphira.
The sword fight still raged between the two young men. Each had a few attacks find their marks, and each received a fair amount of injuries. The wards had long since worn away under the constant pounding of swords. Now the magic weapons clashed with the steel armor, leaving dents and scrapes, sometimes even cutting down the leather.
After a long hour of constant fighting, both Murtagh and Eragon stepped back. Their breathing was heavy, and blood poured from multiple cuts and gashes. A long wound severed Eragon's cheek, from the corner of his eye down to his chin. His plated armor was chipped and dented, and stained with fresh blood. But Murtagh was no better off. He leaned on his sword, not trusting any weight to his right leg.
The two brothers exchanged a long, fierce look. Their eyes stayed locked for a long moment, both gazes speaking without words. Then, using Zar'roc as a crutch, Murtagh limped back to Thorn, who helped him gingerly clamber into the saddle. Eragon stood, his head swimming, and watched him leave. Thorn leapt into the sky, beating his wings furiously to gain altitude. Eragon just stood, rooted to the spot, Brisingr hanging loosely from his hand.
Saphira padded over to him, nudging his shoulder with her nose. You did well, little one. She said quietly.
Not well enough, Eragon answered, his fury still as fresh as his wounds, he's still alive. He put Brisingr away and turned away from her.
Come, the fighting has ended, Saphira told him softly, reaching her neck around so her head was in front of him, let's go.
Eragon nodded tiredly, returning to the saddle, letting her carry him back to the Varden.